In Memoriam A. H. H. Obiit Mdcccxxxiii: Part 082

Alfred Lord Tennyson

I wage not any feud with Death
  For changes wrought on form and face;
  No lower life that earth’s embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.

Eternal process moving on,
  From state to state the spirit walks;
  And these are but the shatter’d stalks,
Or ruin’d chrysalis of one.

Nor blame I Death, because he bare
  The use of virtue out of earth:
  I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.

For this alone on Death I wreak
  The wrath that garners in my heart;
  He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.

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